


A Hargreeves Christmas Carol

by YoungDumbandFullofHeadcanons



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Depression, Family Feels, Five hates christmas, Five learns the meaning of Christmas, Found Family, Gen, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Loneliness, Not Really Canon Compliant, Number Five | The Boy has PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, and he loves them, dolores is a character in this, his family loves him, like secular christmas tho, mention of Hanuka, no religious themes, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28586037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoungDumbandFullofHeadcanons/pseuds/YoungDumbandFullofHeadcanons
Summary: After the almost-apocalypse, Five is having a hard time adjusting to living with his family again. It's Christmas Eve and he couldn't care less, but that night he is visited by three spirits from his past.Will he confront his long-term trauma? Will he learn the meaning of Christmas? Will I actually finish a fic this time? Read to find out!(kinda non-canon compliant. Season 2 happened but doesn't factor into this fic)
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Lila Pitts, Dolores/Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	A Hargreeves Christmas Carol

### Chapter One: _A Message_

Five awoke the morning of December 24th with a pulsing headache. It was probably due to the fact that he stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, chugging coffee and writing equations across his wall. But the old-man-turned-teenager would rather blame his bad mood on the frigid air and the loud ruckus downstairs.

The academy always had a heating problem, and the winter months were almost unbearable. With all his money, Daddy Dearest could have fixed the insulation. But that might have made the children 5% less miserable, and that just wouldn’t do.

Five  _ fucking hates  _ being cold. 

Crawling out of bed like a pissed off little gremlin, he digs around in his dresser and yanks on two pairs of wool socks (cause the floor is so  _ goddamn cold _ ) and a sweater over his pajama shirt. And then he goes to investigate whatever that racket is downstairs. 

Of course, he has five guesses for who could be making all that noise (and it’s usually not Vanya, except that time she blew up the moon). 

Descending the staircase, he can hear Diego and Allison bickering from the foyer, accompanied by the rustling of branches and the  _ *crunch*  _ of broken glass. 

“I told you we should have put the ornaments on after the tree was up!”

“It’s more efficient my way!”

“And why did you sharpen all the candy canes!?”

“In case we get ambushed!”

“Oh Hell no! There is going to be no murder for this Christmas.”

“Uh, can I put this down yet?”

Five round the corner to see Luther standing with a 30 ft Christmas tree slung over his broad shoulders while their siblings argue. It’s half decorated with a strange assortment of ornaments, some of which are shattered on the marble floor. Luther gives an awkward nod toward Five, waiting for further instructions. 

“A little to the left-”

“No, it should be in that corner.”

“It has to be by the fireplace!”

“We have six fireplaces on this floor-”

“Would both of you sHUT UP!” Five barks at them, rubbing his temples as he avoids the floor of broken glass. “It’s too early for this inane bullshit.”

Allison just rolls her eyes and Diego says “It’s already noon Five, get a grip.”

Luther ends up putting the tree down where it is, which is a compromise that makes no one happy but they quit arguing it. The large tree sways and drops more little glass balls to the floor. 

Dodging around the accident-waiting-to-happen, Five stalks toward the kitchen, only to be stopped by Allison. She is holding an armful of tangled christmas lights, some twinkling and looking like a potential electrical fire. 

“Well now that you’re up, can you help put the lights on?” She tries to shove the tangled web to him, ignoring the disdain on his face. 

Yeah, he  _ could  _ teleport himself around the tree and have the lights strung up in record time. But why  _ would  _ he?

“No, I won’t participate in this garish consumerist ploy to sell useless crap and saccharine hallmark cards that society decided to call a  _ holiday.” _

“Wow,” Lila says, and Five turns to see her hanging holy strings in the living room. “You’ve really got the  _ Bah Humbug  _ spirit.”

Five sneers and doesn’t dignify that with a response. He would like to keep pretending that Lila isn’t living here, not caring that she is  _ technically  _ one of them. And also kind of Diego’s girlfriend. Disgusting. 

“Five, we said we were doing Christmas this year-” Allison starts. 

“You idiots said that, I said  _ leave me alone,” _ he says, trying to walk past her.

Behind him, the tree is tipping precariously to the left. Luther and Diego are trying to fix it while causing as little damage as possible. 

“Listen you little asshole,” Allison hisses, eyes blazing. “My daughter is coming over tonight and we are going to have Christmas  _ like a real family, so you better-” _

“I better what Allison?” he barks back, his headache ringing in his ears. “We’re not a  _ real family _ , we’re a bunch of maladjusted strangers held together by daddy issues and freak powers. I don’t care about  _ family _ , I don’t care that your kid is coming, and I DON’T CARE ABOUT CHRISTMAS!”

His siblings go quiet, even as the tree tilts and falls over with a crash. Five is huffing, fists clenched as he glares up at his sister, and he tries to ignore the angry tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Whatever,” she mumbles, shouldering past him to shove the lights at Diego. “Go be fucking miserable if you want.”

Five thinks about responding, but the argument has turned bitter in his mouth.  _ I probably shouldn’t have said that, _ he thinks. But he hasn’t had any coffee yet, and it’s still too cold, and they’ve never celebrated Christmas before, so  _ why bother now? _

With no point in lingering in the tense silence, so Five just teleports himself straight into the kitchen, and the sudden movement makes his headache worse. Through bleary eyes he sees their robot mother fluttering around the room, baking sheets of sugar cookies. 

“Oh hello darling,” she greets warmly, to which he grunts in response. “Did you sleep well? Let me get you some breakfast. Doesn’t the house look lovely? Your brothers and sisters are very festive-” 

He doesn’t answer out of habit,  _ she’s just a machine anyway _ , as he ducks toward the coffee maker.

“Oh, and we are out of coffee grounds-” she says in that sweetly programmed voice.

Five smashes the coffee pot on the counter top.

“Oh dear, let me clean that up.”

In his fury, Five doesn’t notice Klaus behind him until he speaks up.

“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” the necromancer says, sitting at the table with his head in his hands and a mug of tea beside him. Five is used to seeing his sibling look many kinds of disheveled, whether it’s from a night of partying or the almost-apocalypse. But today Klaus is especially bedraggled, skin pale and clammy, sniffly and red-eyed, and looking like it’s painful to just lift his head. 

“You look like shit,” Five says bluntly, which only gets a middle finger in response. 

“Poor dear has a fever,” their mom says, disposing of the shattered coffee pot.

“It’s called a hangover Mom,” Five says, still pouting about the lack of caffeine in his system.

“I’m not hungover,” Klaus insists, voice burnt out and nasally, and then he looks to the left. 

The empty seat beside him is pulled out slightly, and Five assumes that Ben must be there. Apparently. Klaus has been saying he’s sober, but is still struggling to conjure their brother, so Five is a bit skeptical. 

“”Nd I’m not sick…” Klaus murmurs, dropping his head to the table. “There’s just a lot of-” he waves his hands through the air, “ _ energy  _ around right now.”

At least there’s one person more miserable than Five today. He might as well stop moping around and just go get some coffee, and leaving the house will help him avoid his siblings. 

Just then Vanya ducks in through the back door, bundled up and dusted with snowflakes, holding a shopping bag at her side. Her face is pink and chapped from the cold air, but she brightens up in the warm kitchen. 

“Well I went to three stores and none had holographic tinsel, so Allison will have to settle for silver and gold,” she says as she sets the bag down and strips off her gloves.

“Tell me you’re not in on this too, Vanya,” Five laments. He thought he had at least one rational sibling.

His sister just laughs fondly, noticing the grumpy hunch of his shoulders. 

“I take it you saw the tree? It’s, uh- very…”

“Stupid. It’s stupid.”

“I know it’s uh,  _ a lot, _ ” she says, eyes cast down to the table. “But at least we’re all together.”

Five doesn’t really have a response for that, so he takes a keen interest in the floorboards. 

“Hey Klaus, how’re you doing?”

“Been better Vanny,” he says, face down on the table. “Been better.”

“Is, um- Is Ben…?” She asks, looking around the empty air around Klaus, who points his thumb at the seat beside him. 

“Oh- Hi Ben,” Vanya says awkwardly to the vacant chair. 

“He says hi,” Klaus mumbles.

Five has his doubts. 

Deciding that he has better things to do than make small talk with these two (or three?), Five turns toward the door, planning on going to the coffee shop on the corner and spending the day in the solitude of his bedroom.

“Wait, Five,” Vanya trails after him as he puts on his shoes. “There’s a Christmas Eve orchestra tonight-”

“Are you in it?” Five interrupts, pulling a jacket out of the coat closet. He doesn’t remember hearing her practice lately. 

“Oh, no. I haven’t really been playing, since the um- the-” She wrings her hands, and Five has enough social grace to not say  _ apocalypse  _ for her. “Well, um- It’s just a little thing in the concert hall. But you and I could go-”

“Why?” Nevermind social grace. 

Vanya falters, looking like she feels dumb for asking, but says “I just thought- this is your first year back- and I know it must be hard-”

Five just barely keeps himself from lashing out, because he actually likes Vanya sometimes. But he can’t stand being coddled. 

“Vanya I’m fine,” he says, tone harsh and clipped. “I just don’t do all this stupid Christmas crap.”

“But-” 

“And all I want is for everyone to _ leave me alone,” _ and with that he teleports to the door, slamming it shut behind him for emphasis. 

Somehow the day gets even worse from there. It’s too fucking cold outside and his feet get soaked from the slush on the sidewalk. The coffee shop is packed with pushy people and too many insufferable children. The barista is too cheerful and wishes him a  _ Happy Holidays, _ to which he responds  _ Make me the biggest black coffee you have or I will burn this place to the ground.  _

On the walk home there is no escape from the sound of Christmas music, and he spends five minutes berating a Salvation Army volunteer for ringing their bell in his general direction. Not even his extra-extra-large espresso makes him feel better. 

_ Stupid cold. Stupid people. Stupid fucking Christmas.  _

By the evening he has barricaded himself in his bedroom, skipping dinner when Mom calls and ignoring the siblings who dare knock on his door. Diego tries to egg him into a snowball fight. Allison says she is picking Claire up from the airport and reminds him to  _ get his act together and quit being a dick.  _ Vanya comes by and asks again if he wants to go to the concert. 

The only time he leaves is to the bathroom when the coast is clear. On the way he sees that Klaus has passed out on a couch in the sitting room, looking even more feverish than before. 

Five goes to bed early that night, lacking the motivation to run any new equations. His headache never really went away, and there’s a lingering taste of melancholy on his tongue. The academy is still too cold, even as he curls up under his many blankets. He falls asleep with his teeth clenched, feeling restless and uncomfortable. 

_ Five…? _

He’s having the dream again. The air tastes like fire, burning through his throat and into his lungs. His eyes sting too. He’s not crying. 

The sky is a soulless shade of grey, the sun blocked out by smoke. Everything is quiet, like all the sound has been sucked out of the atmosphere, and only a dull thrum remains.

_ Five… _

The ruble shifts around his feet, the brick and mortar of his childhood shattered into little pieces. His mind catalogs every broken piece, fills in all the cracks and imagines putting them back together, until it all crumbles into dust. 

_ Five...! _

They’re behind him. They always are. He can feel their dead eyes on him. They always look so helpless.

He doesn’t want to look. He won’t turn around this time. He can’t stand it again. He’s not crying. 

_ Five! _

But he turns anyway, he always does. He turns and sees-

“Five! Wake up!”

Just then his eyes open and he shoots up in bed, panting and sweaty as the blankets pool in his lap. He can hear the blood rushing in his years, and his heart feels like it’s going to burst out through his throat. Panic grips him for a moment, caught in the dark abyss with  _ someone  _ there, watching him,  _ reaching towards him- _

“GAH-!” Five yelps and clumsily strikes at the figure, still disoriented from sleep. But his hands pass through it like air, leaving a eerie chill on his skin, and his eyes adjust to the dark as the figure reforms into a pale, translucent body. A body with a face that Five hasn’t seen in almost 50 years. 

“Ben?” he says, mostly to himself, in a hushed awe. He looks older than Five remembers, and even older still than the time of his death. But there is not a shred of doubt in Five that  _ this  _ is his brother. 

“Can you see me?” the spector asks, waving a hand in front of Five’s face. The teenager follows the movement, eyes wide as he sees the ethereal mist Ben is made from. “You can see  _ and  _ hear me right? I’m not that good at charades.”

His voice is the same, but also not. It sounds kind of hollow, like an echo that has gone dull overtime. And it's unsettling to hear it, like he has an ear pressed to the door of his childhood, but can’t quite remember the last time he heard Ben’s voice. 

“Yeah,” he says in a daze, overwhelmed by all the sensations coming at him. “But how…?”

Ben grins at the confirmation, sitting his incorporeal body at the foot of Five’s bed with an easy familiarity. The bed doesn’t shift and blankets are undisturbed under him because he’s weightless, adding the uncanny sight.

“Hell if I know, something weird is going on in the spirit world,” he says, like that doesn’t raise about a million questions in Five’s mind. “I think it’s what’s making Klaus sick, and I guess why I can manifest to you.”

The living brother just sits there, completely dumbfounded for the first time in his life. Five has been skeptical (to say the least) about the existence of ghosts. Klaus’s powers proves there is  _ something  _ beyond death, but his explanations of how it works have been dubious at best. Plus the years of compulsive lying and addiction have skewed his brother’s perception of reality. And Five just doesn’t see the reason behind it all, it’s not like his own powers, which rely on logic to navigate the space time continuum. And even if spirits did exist, it would be on a plane of existence completely inaccessible to him or anyone else (besides Klaus), so there is no feasible way to understand it. 

(And in him many years in the apocalypse, Five didn’t find much comfort in the idea that souls of his dead family were still lingering around.)

“You’re not gonna freak out, are you?” Ben asks after another moment of silence. 

“N-no,” Five says, even as he reaches out and puts his hand through his brother’s chest. 

The milky film of his body swirls and distorts, and the air around his fingers feels ice cold.

“Hey- don’t do that,” Ben snaps, looking kind of queasy as his innards rearrange. Five pulls his hand back and watches as the spector returns to its shape 

“Fascinating,” Five mumbles, so many thoughts running through his head that he can’t make any sense of them. 

“Look I know this is a lot,” Ben says, getting Five’s attention again. “And as much as i want to catch up, I can’t keep this up for very long.” 

Five notices then that Ben is already starting to fade from sight, little pieces of him slipping away and his voice becoming more distant. 

“I need to tell you that something is coming-”

“What? Another apocalypse?! Or-” Five says, feeling his blood pressure sky-rocket in an instant. 

“No- I mean, I don’t know. I’m a ghost, I can’t see the future- But, I don’t think this is like, a world-ending thing. Just, I mean-” Ben rambles, unused to talking to someone who isn’t Klaus for this long, but he’s starting to disappear and he should really get to the point. “There are three spirits coming for you.”

“For me?!” Five just started to accept that ghosts exist, and his brain is already going into overdrive.

“Yeah. Tonight.” 

“Tonight! Wh- Why? How!?” 

“Don’t know,” Ben says with a shrug. “But Klaus said you have a  _ ‘weird aura’ _ , so that might be it.”

“A- I- Whe-” Five feels like a circuit board with too many switches flipped.

“I can feel them coming, but I don’t know who or why,” Ben says cryptically, now just a floating head as he continues to disappear. “But they’re coming for you.”

“Ben…” Five watches the last little bit of his brother fade, struck by the emptiness that is left behind. “Wait-”

“Sorry I can’t help more,” Ben laments quietly, a watery smile on his misty visage. “But Five, don’t forget,  _ you’re not alone-” _

And in that instant, Ben is gone, and Five is staring out into the darkness of his bedroom. Five blinks out of his daze suddenly, feeling like his mind has been dragging along in slow motion, and now has snapped back to normal. 

He rubs his eyes and cups over his ears, trying to process what he’s just experienced. The memory of Ben’s ghost is hazy and strange already, and he can’t seem to pull it into focus. He’d looked like this,  _ or maybe not,  _ and he’s sounded like himself,  _ or something else?  _

He still feels vaguely panicked and disoriented, like he usually does after a nightmare.  _ Maybe it wasn’t real _ , he thinks, even though his gut says it very much was.  _ But it can’t be,  _ he reasons with himself. 

He’d been having the dream again, maybe this was part of it. Maybe his nightmares were spreading into his consciousness. Maybe he drank too much coffee today. Or not enough coffee. Maybe the wasteland madness was setting in again. 

_ Three spirits… _

_ It can’t be real,  _ he decides, trusting his logic over the strange feeling in the air. He can’t see ghosts. He does have nightmares occasionally. It’s much more likely that this was some kind of waking dream. 

With that settled he lies back down in bed, pulling up the covers and trying to get warm again. Sleep comes quickly, but the strange feeling in his gut stays. 

**Author's Note:**

> Why did i start a christmas fic in january? who knows. 
> 
> the motivation to finish this fic does depend on comments so if you please....


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